


Sand, and Sea, and Air

by cotton_socks



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Canonical Character Death, Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotton_socks/pseuds/cotton_socks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time of adventurers and inventors and gothic monsters, Tony Stark of Stark & Son Manufacturing finds himself rescued from the desert by an extraordinary man… He later takes the opportunity to see naked ankle. (Movieverse Steampunk AU with some 616 elements)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand, and Sea, and Air

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [QUY](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/50258) by BatNeko. 



> This fic was written for the Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang 2014. I was inspired by this piece by BatNeko: http://i.imgur.com/HKbuCkB.jpg
> 
> WARNINGS: Homophobia isn't an issue in this world, but Victorian-esque attitudes to issues such as class, sex and marriage are prominent in the world and the story.  
> It also contains comic book / film-typical violence and medical situations (see end notes if this is potentially an issue for you.)  
> Mentions canon character death.
> 
> Thanks to: BatNeko for the inspiration, my boyfriend for the support, and the Clocks and Watches exhibit at the British Museum.

 

His pursuers are gaining. They’ll be upon him within minutes, Tony calculates, glancing over his shoulder anxiously. Despite burns and heat exhaustion, they’re in better shape than him, more used to the weather, to the ever-shifting terrain. Their feet slip on the sand a little less than his, and they’re gaining.

 

Should he stop running, he wonders, stumbling clumsily over a small dune. Turn to face them, make a last stand? No – he will surely be over-run. He must keep going.

 

He can hear nothing but his own breath, a deep, rattling sound like a dying engine. The air burns in his ragged throat, his shattered chest aches, the machine embedded inside him thrumming as it fights valiantly to keep his stuttering heart beating.

 

He glances over his shoulder again. His closest pursuer is almost upon him! Tony can see the maniacal glint in his eye, the glare of the sun off his knife…

 

Tony spins, shoves out his right hand, presses the release of the device clutched tightly in his left.

 

A terrifying moment in which his pursuer is ten yards away, five –

 

– then the mad grimace disappears behind hot flame, and the man falls.

 

Tony runs on.

 

The gauntlet and can of lamp fuel – rigged together by a tenuous tube – are the only two parts of the Iron Man that he kept. He had thrown the rest off at the first opportunity, convinced that without the extra weight, he could escape his pursuers. It appears now that it would have been better to have kept it on, to have confronted the survivors of the base explosion, and have beaten them to death with his heavy iron arms.

 

If only he could somehow have powered a short flight! Yinsen had laughed when he had suggested that avenue of thought, imagining, perhaps, them shooting out of that cave and into the air like fireworks… Tony had insisted that maybe he couldn’t build an aeroplane without arousing their captor’s suspicions, but surely he could create _something_ to carry them out of there… but Yinsen had shook his head, and fondly called him Icarus.

 

Tony feels a sharp burst of pain in his left shoulder, and glances back. His next pursuer is close, a knife raised and ready to throw. Tony puts on a burst of speed, and this time the knife skitters harmlessly onto the sand by his feet.

 

His attacker is weaponless now, dropping back, and Tony feels a flare of anger. He will not let the vile blackguard get away – pressing the release even as he turns, his iron gauntlet is already pouring fire by the time he has it levelled at his enemy’s face.

 

_Mistake_ , Tony realises, too late. His pauses to kill the two men, short as they were, were too much. The others are closer now; too close. He has no choice but to make his last stand.

 

His lamp oil is running low.

 

He takes another two down with his flame-thrower before the rest falter, gathering together just outside of its range, knives shifting uncomfortably in their hands – they were the only weapons that could be salvaged from the wreckage of their base, no _Stark & Son_ inventions appear to have survived Tony’s explosion, praise the lord. Tony takes a run at them, and they scatter, but he gets one of them good, and there is another smoking corpse on the sand.

 

Running at them was his second blunder, Tony realises. The dehydration must really be getting to his brain, because he has allowed some of them to get behind him.

 

He is surrounded.

 

It’s almost amusing. Tony Stark, greatest mind of his generation, most accomplished gentleman in America, thwarted by his stupidity. “Blast,” he murmurs, with a quirk of his lips, and rolls his shoulders. He is ready.

 

But then there’s a noise in the air, a noise that cuts through the panting breath of a dozen exhausted, angry men. His enemies look around, confused, but Tony recognises that sound: An 1887 two-engine bi-plane, _The Intrepid_ , hum sweet as a whistle. The first plane Tony had designed that Howard had deigned to produce for the market. High tech, military, American.

 

But if the enemies of America had got their hands on _Stark_ weapons, who was to say their flying machines were safe? He won’t hope too much

 

He spins just in time to see a villain making a leap for his back, and sends the assailant reeling away with a charred stump for an arm. Another, coming in from the side, gets a blast straight to the face.

 

The air is so loud now, close around him. The drone of the plane above mixed with the screams of dying men. Tony almost misses the _thump_ somewhere behind him, but when he turns there is a man in uniform, crouched over a crumpled body, as though he fell directly on top of the enemy from the sky. The stranger straightens, dashes right past Tony to smash a heavy shield into the face of someone over Tony’s shoulder.

 

Tony gets back to the fight. Pressing the release in his left hand again and again, turning his right hand to foe after foe. His flame begins to sputter as the oil runs out, and Tony panics, turning circles desperately. He has turned fully three times before he realises none of his enemies are left standing.

 

Just the man with the shield, looking at him.

 

Tony holds his right hand out, flamethrower aimed at the man’s face. “Who are you?” He demands. “Who are you?”

 

“A friend,” is the reply. He is holding up a shield, but not cowering behind it, his body language confident if cautious, and something in that dichotomy sparks off alarm bells in Tony – until he realises that the shield is not being used for protection, but rather as a flag: it is painted, red, white and blue. “I’m a friend.” The man says. “Look up.”

 

Wearily, Tony does so. And there, flying overhead in the pilot seat of an American biplane, is Lieutenant James Rhodes.

 

Tony tries to yell a greeting, but all that comes out is a choked sound.

 

“Tony!” Rhodey calls, his own voice a little broken. “Next time you ride with me!”

 

Tony’s eyes slide closed and he falls to his knees.

 

The next minutes blur. Tony is vaguely aware of a hand on his back, of choking on water as his parched throat struggles to swallow. His fingers are pried away from the oil can, his leather and iron gauntlet slid off his blistered right hand, and he is lifted into the air. The soldier cradling him in his arms is yelling up to Rhodey, who is flying as low as he can, and Tony lets himself drift towards unconsciousness.

 

“Mr Stark!” Tony opens his eyes to a bright blue gaze. “You must stay awake a little longer. Can you do that?”

 

Tony fights to co-operate with the stranger with the beautiful eyes. But he is tired, _so tired_. He and Yinsen had taken turns sleeping, terrified that their captors would come in while they were asleep and see that the weapon they were working on was not the one promised. And even when he lay down to rest, Tony had struggled, for he had been in immense pain, his body healing only slowly around the clockwork mechanism in his chest, which filled the cave with the echoed ticking that was his heartbeat now. But now, he was just so exhausted, so bone-weary, aching from the loss of his dear friend and mentor… it was tempting to just let it all slip away.

 

“Mr Stark!” He feels so safe in this soldiers’ arms, under Rhodey’s watchful gaze. “Anthony!”

 

He forces his eyes open again.

 

“You must stay awake.”

 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Tony manages to slur. It is a weak joke, based solely on the mark of rank on the strange tan uniform, but the smile his rescuer gives in response is dazzling. Tony has no time to bask in it, however, as he is lowered gently to the ground.

 

The American captain rearranges his body carefully but swiftly. Tony’s suspenders are unhooked, as are the straps from the shield and the sash of the army uniform, and the whole thing rigged together with a series of complex knots, until Tony find himself with the shield across his back like a tortoise shell, and the Captain holding his Iron Man gauntlet out to him.

 

“This contraption won’t break under pressure, will it?” The man asks.

 

This is a _Stark & Son _‘contraption’, Sir; I am offended.” Tony manages, and is graced with another smile.

 

The Captain instructs Tony to grab on to the gauntlet at either end, and then wrap his arms around his shoulders from behind. Tony is then lifted up so he can wrap his tired legs around the mans’ hips as the rest of the straps are secured, so Tony ends up essentially tied to the other gentleman’s back.

 

“These should hold,” The Captain says. “But you’ll probably want to hang on anyway.”

 

Tony murmurs an affirmative into the cloth at the back of the soldier’s neck, but he isn’t sure what’s going to happen next – does the foolish man think he can carry Tony all of the way out of the desert? He’s looking up at _The Intrepid_ , as though expecting it to land on the sand. It could land alright, but wouldn’t be able to take back off again, and Tony is damned if he is going to strand Rhodey in this wasteland as well.

 

But then the humming of the engine grows louder as the plane flies directly overhead as slowly as it can, and Tony sees that there is a rope hanging from the cockpit.

 

Tony begins to laugh, because if this is the grand plan to get them out of here, he might as well just accept his death and be done with it –

 

– but then the Captain takes off at a run, makes an impossibly accurate leap, and they are being whisked through the air. It is by no means a comfortable journey, and Tony thinks deliriously that this must be how it feels to a maggot on a hook in a very fast stream.

 

For all he couldn’t keep his eyes open earlier, he finds it impossible to close them now, even as the Captain begins to climb with surprising speed and dexterity. The plane is climbing in altitude also, and the desert stretches out below them in every direction. Tony can see the fires from his explosion in the mountains still burning.

 

The Captain hauls them up onto the main body of the airplane. _The Intrepid_ is, fortunately, a three-seater, but one of the seats is in the front next to the pilot, so the uncannily-graceful soldier has to balance on the body, buffeted by the strong, hot winds as he frees Tony from his back, and slides him carefully in next to Rhodey, who shouts a relieved greeting, but doesn’t take his steady hands off the controls.

 

Tony turns and watches as his rescuer makes his way carefully along the plane to slip into the seat further back. He had taken his military hat off and secured it to his belt earlier, and his blonde hair blows straight back, baring his strong-featured, handsome face when he settles into the seat. He gives Tony a triumphant grin.

 

Tony turns to face forward, closes his eyes, and let himself breathe.

 

He is out. He is alive.

 

His fingers tighten on the gauntlet.

 

 

When Tony wakes, he is in a hotel. The mattress is soft, the bed hangings are silk, his Iron Man gauntlet is on the dresser, and Rhodey is out on the veranda. The breeze that blows through the open doors is warm, but not dry. Tony lies there for a good few minutes basking in the humidity, imagining he can feel the moist air seeping into the cracks of his skin, his chapped lips, filling up all the dry places.

 

Eventually he calls out to Rhodey, who lights up and looks up from his book.

 

“You’re awake!”

 

“Really, honey bear, you come all this way to rescue me, and then can’t even be bothered to sit by my bedside while I recover?”

 

“You’ve been unconscious for a long time, Tony,” Rhodey says, strolling back into the room and helping Tony sit up and take a drink. “And I have to admit the coast of Madripoor is a prettier view than you right now.”

 

“How dare you? I am the most photo-graphed man in America.”

 

“Actually, Warren Worthington III has taken hold of that title in your absence.”

 

“That cad,” Tony says, mock-affronted, “Well there you are, that must be who ordered to have me assassinated. I always knew he was jealous of me…”

 

Rhodey’s chuckle is less amused this time and trails off to leave only silence.

 

Tony sloshs his water around in his crystal glass.

 

“I don’t suppose anybody’s discovered the truth of it?”

 

“I’m afraid not.”

 

“I see.”

 

They sit in silence for a while longer, before Rhodey suddenly says, “Mr Stane is coming to take you home. He’ll be here in a couple of days.”

 

It’s just the thing to raise Tony’s spirits. It’ll be great to see Obi again. To get back to America and see his friends again. Get working on a new Armour.

 

“That’s magnificent news,” Tony says, smiling. “I need to get back to my laboratory, get to work…”

 

“ _Tony_. What you need is _rest_.”

 

“Not on my life! Rhodey, you didn’t see what I saw –“

 

“ _Stark & Son _weapons in the hands of rebels?” Rhodey asks gravely, and Tony gapes at him, wondering how he had found out. Without having to be asked, Rhodey continues, “You were murmuring about it in your sleep. Rogers has gone back to the mountains to check that everything was thoroughly destroyed.”

 

“Rogers?”

 

“Mr Steven Rogers.”

 

Tony blinks at him, nonplussed.

 

“The man who saved your life, Tony.”

 

“Oh!” Tony suddenly remembers the hair, the eyes, that smile. Rhodey smirks at him as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking about. “I thought he was a captain?”

 

“No, he’s not in the army at all, actually. We picked up that uniform the first week after you went missing, He thought it was appropriate for the desert climate.”

 

“He’s not in the army? So what does he do? Who _is_ he?” Tony is aware that his curiosity is not really dignified, but can’t keep the questions back. His father would say he had little sense of dignity even on his best days.

 

“I’m not rightly sure what his usual occupation is… I imagine some sort of adventurer maybe. He’s been getting me into scrapes of one sort or another since the first day your father introduced us –”

 

“My father introduced you?”

 

“Yes – I’m not really sure how they know each other, only that your father went straight to Mr Rogers when he heard of your apparent assassination. We’ve been working together ever since to try to find you and bring you home.”

 

“You didn’t lose hope at any point?”

 

Rhodey’s eyes turn a little sad. “I despaired of finding you alive, once or twice… Steve managed to inspire me not to give up hope. He’s a rare gentleman.”

 

He sounds very fond, and Tony frowns. “Do you –” he trails off. He’s had no qualms asking Rhodey impertinent questions about his romantic life in the past, but this feels different.

 

“Admire him?” Rhodey asked, with a shark-like smile. “Not in the way you’re thinking. And after living in close quarters with him for three months, I have reason to believe that there is nobody else, either.”

 

Rhodey winks, and Tony scoffs. “I barely even know the man!”

 

“When you do, you’ll like him, I assure you.”

 

Ignoring him, Tony rearranged the blankets over his legs. “Mr Rogers has gone back to make sure all _Stark & Son _tech is destroyed?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Good. Tony is pretty sure he managed to get everything in the explosion he had set before fleeing the rebel’s base at the foot of the mountains, but he was in a bad state at the time, so getting a second opinion can’t be a bad thing.

 

“Actually, he should have been back by now.” Rhodey says, some worry in his voice. “He left the morning after we brought you here. He was going to find a pilot to drop him off in the mountains and then come back for him after two days. They should have been back yesterday evening.”

 

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Tony attempts to reassure him. He tries not to think about all the terrible things that could happen to the nice not-soldier with the beautiful smile in the desert mountains, about how there may have been more rebels lurking around, about how long he could survive without water if he missed the rendezvous with his pilot, about the fact that this was _Madripoor_ and any pilot Mr Rogers might find here would be as likely to slit his throat and take his money as fly him anywhere for honest wages.

 

“Well, I certainly hope so.” Rhodey says, trying to deflect his worry with humour, “I think your father might murder me if he finds out I sent Rogers back into danger. He really does seem fond of the man.”

 

Surprised, Tony tries to cover his hurt. “Well, I suppose he needs to be fond of someone,” he says with levity.

 

Rhodey’s gaze grows serious. “Your father loves you, Tony. If I ever had any doubt about that, it disappeared when I saw his reaction to your apparent murder.”

 

Tony makes a _pssshaw_ sound. “I’m sure he was just upset about losing his heir.”

 

“He was upset about losing _you_ , Tony. And he never gave up hope that we would find you.”

 

“If he’s so upset, why is it that Obi is travelling all the way from America to Madripoor to bring me home, and he isn’t?” Tony challenges.

 

“He wanted to come, Tony, he –“

 

“Oh, he wanted to! Just like all the times he _wished_ he could have more time to spend with me when I was younger –”

 

“Tony,” Rhodey says, his forced calm cutting through Tony’s increasingly hysterical rant. “He was going to come here. When I spoke to him on the telephone to tell him that we had recovered you, he was ready to jump in an aeroplane right then. He’d be here already if I hadn’t told him about the rebels having your technology. He’s staying to investigate.”

 

Tony presses his lips together. This is more important than his hurt feelings. “And has he found anything?”

 

“Tony, you’re still very weak –“

 

“Rhodey.”

 

Rhodey sighs. “Some evidence of dirty dealing high within the company. No idea of who the perpetrator is, yet, or the extent of it.”

 

That’s disappointing, but not unexpected. Tony can’t wait to get back home and join the investigation himself. He plans to locate each and every criminal who had used _Stark_ weapons for ill, who has used Tony’s own creations to hurt the American soldiers he had been trying to protect, who has used them to kill innocents, to kill Yinsen’s family – and he was going to take away their toys. And as for the traitor who had sold them the weapons, nothing would be able to save them from Tony’s wrath…

 

 

Tony is still making plans later on that evening, when Rhodey has headed out to visit Madripoor’s guild of Aeronauts and Aviators, in search of answers about Rogers. Rhodey has grown increasingly worried throughout the day, muttering about the reputation of some of the pilots – quite a few of them are pirates or smugglers, whilst others merely practise their profession in Madripoor because they fail to meet the codes of conduct in any other country. Which is no different from any other guild in Madripoor, but as a pilot himself, this is closer to Rhodey’s heart. Tony can tell that now he’s awake and as well as it is reasonable to expect for a man with mechanical heart, Rhodey is beginning to regret not flying Rogers back to the dessert himself.

 

Tony doesn’t blame him – he’s fine for the most part, and whilst it was nice to see a friendly face when he awoke, he wishes Mr Rogers had someone like Rhodey to rely on.  Instead, Rogers was probably sat in the dessert somewhere, close to death, waiting for a plane that would never come. All while protecting Tony’s interests. Three months ago, after he had seen those American soldiers blown to pieces while attempting to guard him, Tony had sworn no good person would be hurt by him again. He had failed with Yinsen, and now the lovely blond man who had come to his rescue was probably going to be Tony’s second failure.

 

Tony had been thinking about it throughout the day, along with how he was going to begin to make amends for all the terrible things he had done, the horrifying machines of death he had made. He had been seen to by a doctor, had his first proper meal in months (and then promptly thrown it back up again – his stomach not yet ready for the rich Madripoorian cuisine) and bathed in the luxurious bath in his hotel suite, all while plotting his course of action.

 

For now, he’s decided to keep this plans private. He’s considering asking Rhodey to join him in his endeavour to hunt down and destroy _Stark_ weapons, but the last thing he wants is to send his dearest friend on a suicide mission, so he’ll see how well rebuilding the Iron Man goes first.

 

As soon as Rhodey had leaves for the Guild, Tony gets out some paper and begins to sketch out designs for a new armour. He hasn’t been at it long when there was a _plink_ ing sound, like something hitting the glass. Tony freezes, and looks over to the veranda, but Rhodey had drawn the curtains across when he had shut the doors against the evening air. After a long silence, Tony relaxes and is about to return to his designs when he hears the noise again.

 

He gets up and creeps across to the veranda door. Pushing the curtain aside, he peers out. He can’t see anything out of the ordinary, so he goes to one of the many other windows in the airy, luxurious apartment to check from a different vantage point. There is nothing on the balcony, and Tony reasons that it’s a breezy night – perhaps a stray twig was blown up against the glass? But then he sees it –

 

– a  dark silhouette, scaling the wall of the hotel with extraordinary speed.

 

Tony sprints back to the desk and snatches up his plans for the Iron Man, shoving them into his nightshirt. He blows out one of the lamps, and quickly hooks up the oil to the remaining gauntlet of the original armour.

 

Gauntleted right hand outstretched and the left clasping the lamp oil tightly, Tony advances on the window.

 

“Rhodes?”

 

Tony freezes at the soft voice.

 

“Colonel Rhodes?”

 

Tony sweeps aside the curtain and flings the door open. He is met by startled blue eyes. “Oh,” Tony says. There is a beautiful not-soldier in a sandy uniform and a shield in the colours of the American flag perched on the veranda railing. “Hello.”

 

Rogers recovers from his surprise and smiles brightly. “Mr Stark! You’re awake!”

 

“Indeed.” Tony stands back from the doorway. “I suppose you had better come in.”

 

“Thank you.” Mr Rogers says, dropping gracefully from the railing and proceeding past Tony into the room.

 

Very aware that he had almost threatened Mr Rogers for the second time in as many days, Tony shrugs off the gauntlet self-consciously. Noticing the action, his guest looks abashed.

 

“I am sorry I startled you.” Rogers says, “I was barred from entering the establishment in my current state and wanted to report to Colonel Rhodes. Though it occurs to me now that perhaps I should have cleaned up before coming here…” He looks down at his uniform and rings his dirt-encrusted hands together.

 

“That’s quite alright,” Tony says, even though the way that sand seems to be stuck in every crease in the uniform reminds him of Yinsen’s face and the way that the hot dessert dirt had settled into the smile lines around the sad old eyes. “I’m hardly dressed to entertain, either.” He gestures down at his nightgown, which Mr Rogers glances at, before very quickly averting his eyes.

 

“I apologise, I shouldn’t have called on you –“ Rogers says, and moves back towards the window.

 

Tony closes it quickly. “Stay, and take a little refreshment with me. You must be hungry?”

 

“A little.”

 

Tony has a quiet word with one of the servants standing attentively outside the door to the suite – the one that leads to the lobby, rather than the balcony – who inclines his head politely and hurries off. He then offers Mr Rogers some wine, but this is declined in favour of water.

 

He watches as Mr Rogers quenches his thirst by downing three pints. “I apologise –“ Rogers begins to say, but Tony waves it off with a hand.

 

“I remember that thirst, Mr Rogers. You do not need to apologise.”

 

Rogers ducks his head, then clears his throat. “I trust you are recovering, Mr Stark?”

 

“Well enough, thank you. I must thank you for rescuing me; I thought I should never feel so well again. And I do feel well, even if I may not look it,” Tony grins.

 

“Oh no, you look – that is to say, you are welcome. Of course. You do not need to thank  me –“

 

His blustering is cut off by the arrival of two servants; or rather, redirected, as Mr Rogers is obviously not accustomed to having his chair held out for him, or being waited on. Tony catalogues that in the short list of things he knows about this man. He wonders again how his father had even become acquainted with him.

 

A question for later. Over a small meal of cake and fruit, Tony keeps the conversation light, mainly focussed on food. The servants are the picture of professionalism, and if they wonder why the infamous Tony Stark is entertaining a sand-dusted soldier in his night-clothes, they show no sign of it.

 

When the remains of the meal are being cleared away, Mr Rogers asks after Rhodey.

 

“He went to inquire about you,” Tony replies. “He said you were meant to return yesterday evening.”

 

Rogers nods. “I’m afraid I had to take a detour on the way back.”

 

“You returned to the mountains to check that all _Stark & Sons_ weaponry was destroyed?”

 

“Indeed, and I have to admire your skill with explosions, Mr Stark. Nothing of any use to the enemy survived.”

 

“Well, it’s about time that skill was used for good, rather than for death.” Tony says darkly.

 

Rogers moves his chair closer to Tony. “You mustn’t think like that, Mr Stark. Of course it is unfortunate your inventions were used for ill, but you were unaware, and did the best you could when you discovered the truth. Even as we speak, your father is working to find out how your weapons made it into the wrong hands.”

 

He speaks with such earnest belief that Tony can’t help but be swayed by the tone. Perhaps the measures he was taking to amend for his past behaviour were commendable, he conceded to himself, but that didn’t change the fact that the weapons had been created with an ignorance and disregard for human life Tony could never forgive himself for.

 

They sit in a silence for a short while, Tony dwelling in self-disgust, and Rogers shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

 

“There is something else I need to tell you about, Mr Stark.” Rogers says eventually. “I went looking for the rest of your armour. I thought you might like to have it returned to you, or at least destroyed before it fell into the wrong hands. But I’m afraid I must have been too late, for I could find no sign of it anywhere.”

 

Rogers has lowered his gaze, his body hunched slightly, and Tony is spinelessly grateful, for he knows he cannot meet those sincere eyes. He had not even thought about the danger of the Iron Man falling into the hands of a similar rebel band to the one who had kidnapped him and killed Yinsen. Of course, they would not be able to power the Iron Man without the clockwork mechanism Tony had carried away with him in his chest, but they might be able to find someone to reverse-engineer it. And then there would be yet more lives lost due to Tony’s mistakes.

 

“I apologise.” Rogers says.

 

“Do not apologise.” Tony snaps, and Rogers looks up sharply. Forcing himself to calm down, and not let his emotions show on his face, Tony softens his voice. “You more than did your duty, Mr Rogers. I have no doubt my father will pay you handsomely for your additional services, but your mission was to retrieve me, not to risk your life clearing up my messes.”

 

Rogers is frowning. “I would not ask for payment, Mr Stark. You are wrong, I was doing no more than is my duty.” He stands, looking affronted. “I have taken up enough of your time; I shall take my leave.”

 

“Please,” Tony says, unsure how he caused offense, but unwilling to pursue it now, “do not leave. You have yet to see Colonel Rhodes.”

 

Rogers hesitates, then sits again. Tony’s attention is suddenly drawn to the fact that the man is still covered in the dirt and dust of the dessert, and he feels ashamed.

 

“Forgive me, I should have offered you the opportunity to wash up. You are welcome to use the bathroom whilst you wait.”

 

Rogers begins to decline the offer, all coldness gone with the return of his self-consciousness, but Tony can see the longing in his eyes, and manages to persuade the man to make use of the magnificent claw-footed bath in the next room.

 

While Rogers is in the bathroom, Tony fishes his Iron Man sketches out of his nightshirt and works on them for a while with a glass of whisky.

 

Eventually a wet blond head pokes around the bathroom door. Rogers’ face is flushed. “Could I borrow something to wear?”

 

“There’s a bathrobe in there, isn’t there?”

 

“There is. I fear it is made for someone of your height, however.”

 

Tony smirks. “All of the clothes in this apartment are made for someone of my height. I’m afraid it’s either the bathrobe, or you’ll have to put your uniform back on.”

 

“Ah.” Rogers says, and disappears back into the bathroom.

 

Tony knows he is being a little unkind – in fact, Rhodey’s clothes are in the next suite over, and he could easily send a servant to fetch them – but it is nice to see that his experience in the desert hasn’t changed his personality entirely. It seems his opportunism when it comes to naked human flesh is still very much a part of Tony Stark.

 

And what gorgeous human flesh. Tony makes sure to get a good eyeful when Rogers emerges from the bathroom. His calves are thick and covered in a light sprinkling of dark gold hair, his forearms beautifully muscled, and his bared clavicles are gleaming and perfect. To complete the picture, the long eyelashes are damp and dark, and there is a delicate flush across the high cheekbones. Mr Rogers is a very fine specimen of humanity, to be sure.

 

Rogers thanks him for the use of his bathroom, and sits down on a settee slightly apart from Tony’s desk, adjusting the bathrobe self-consciously.

 

“How did you come by your uniform, Mr Rogers? Rhodes tells me you are not in the army?” Tony says, mainly to make conversation.

 

Rogers laughs somewhat self-depreciatingly. “No, indeed. I desired the opportunity to serve in the army for some years, but when it looked like I was to finally get my chance –“ his gaze drops, those long damp lashes lowering, “Well, there were some unfortunate circumstances.”

 

“Sounds like an interesting story,” Tony says.

 

He doesn’t think Rogers will tell him it, and likely stick to the previous subject, but then he licks his bottom lip and looks up to meet Tony’s gaze. “Yes. I suppose you are curious as to how I know your father?”

 

Tony blinks. “Is it the same story?” He asks.

 

Rogers doesn’t answer the question, just settles back deeper into his seat and places his hands on his knees. “You may find this difficult to believe, but I was small, as a youth. Tiny and malnourished, and ill much of the time. Due to the grace of God and the generosity of a friend, I survived to adulthood, and managed to keep out of the poorhouse, but found it difficult to hold down a job. You see how naïve I was: I couldn’t make it through a day in a factory without collapsing, and yet I wished to be in the army, serve my country.” Rogers’ tone is self-flagellating, and he avoids Tony’s eyes. “I was involved in a street brawl that brought me to the attention of an ingenious scientist, Doctor Erskine. He was working on a project, an experiment in human biology, with the aim of creating a platoon of enhanced men to serve as a kind of police force on home soil, countering the threat posed by rogue scientists and evil inventors, and provide a public service… the swashbucklers and adventurers do what they can of course, but it’s not the same as having people out on the streets…”

 

“The Marvellous Militia Scheme!” Tony says, something stirring in his memory. Howard had been terribly upset about the whole thing a couple of years ago, but Tony had paid little attention, as at the time he had been arguing with his father about his role in the company. “I had thought it was a failure?”

 

Rogers frowns. “It was,” he says, sounding confused.

 

“The fact that you are sitting in front of me looking as you do says otherwise, my dear fellow,” Tony says.

 

Rogers shakes his head. “Mine was the first and only successful experiment. Doctor Erskine died in a freak accident just after my procedure, taking his secrets to the grave. Instead of an entire platoon, they got one man. And ironically, the only test subject who had not been trained in the army. After that, my military dreams were scuppered. Some of the men involved, including your father, believed I could still be of use, a kind of soldier of the people, but most disagreed. I’ve spent the last couple of years working with the army and scientists trying to recreate the effects, but the experiments keep creating worse and worse accidents…”

 

Rogers looks despondent and guilty, and Tony moves to sit next to him on the settee. He takes Rogers’ hand, and the man doesn’t pull away. Instead he looks up at Tony with earnest misery shining in his eyes “Your father withdrew his support from the project a few months ago when it became too much for his conscience to bear… I have been thinking of doing the same… I’m unsure; it’s such a noble goal, but the casualties keep mounting, and I am not sure the ends justify the means…”

 

Rogers is looking at him for reassurance, and Tony tries desperately to think of something comforting to say. Throwing propriety to the wind, he reaches out the hand that is not clasping Rogers’, and threads it into the soft blond hair at the base of his neck.

 

Of course, that is the moment Rhodey returns. “God and Damnit, Tony,” he says from the doorway, taking in their intimate position on the couch and mutual states of undress.

 

After a moment of shock, Rogers leaps to his feet, away from Tony’s touch. “Colonel Rhodes –“

 

“It’s not what it looks like, Rhodey,” Tony says smoothly, “You remember I was thus dressed when you left. Mr Rogers has taken the opportunity to clean the grime of the mission off him, and is wearing the only suitable garment in the apartment.”

 

“Of course,” Rhodey says, suddenly apologetic, “You must understand, Steve, I did not mean to question your honor; I was merely worried that Tony was imposing upon you.”

 

“I have a tendency to do that,” says Tony lightly to Rogers. He can’t be angry with Rhodey for thinking the worst of him, for he has been known to jeopardise the reputation of men and women in the past. “Rhodey understands that if anything improper had happened here – which it didn’t – that it would entirely be on me.”

 

Rogers looks somewhat placated, but still mortified, and he keeps Rhodey inbetween them for the rest of the evening.

 

 

“I understand your states of undress, Tony,” Rhodey says the next day, when they are sat in the hotel restaurant, waiting for Mr Rogers to join them for dinner. “But if you weren’t trying to seduce him, I can’t figure out why you would be touching him the way you were.”

 

Tony tries to think of a way to explain how the conversation with Rogers had caused the undeniably urge to comfort him physically, but the memory of pain on that beautiful face steals the words from his throat, and then Rogers is joining them at the table, looking collected in a smart but inexpensive suit, and Rhodey just gives him a meaningful look.

 

 

 

Over the next couple of days, Tony gets to know Rogers. The man appears uncomfortable when left alone with Tony, but relaxes when Rhodey is present as well, and the three of them spend much of the days following Rogers’ return together, until Obi arrives.

 

If Rhodey’s protectiveness of Rogers irks Tony slightly, he forgets it completely when he hears Obi’s opinion on the situation. Despite the polite way they converse, it is evident to everyone present at their introduction that Obi and Mr Rogers do not take to each other. On the night before their departure from Madripoor, when the doctor has pronounced Tony fit for travel, Obi takes Tony aside.

 

“Are you sure the boy wouldn’t feel more comfortable taking a sea-ferry home?”

 

“I think _you’d_ be more comfortable if he did,” Tony replies, trying to keep the petulance out of his voice. He is used to his father disapproving of the company he keeps, but not Obi.

 

“I just think perhaps he should travel in a way befitting his class,” Obi says, “It is different with Colonel Rhodes; he is your friend and must of course join us on our private air-ship, but Mr Rogers has completed his task for _Stark & Son _and we are not obliged to keep him on as a travel companion.”

 

Tony bristles. “He saved my life.”

 

Obi sighs and gets that fatherly look he gets when he’s worried about Tony. “You shouldn’t read too much into that, Tony. He owed your father a favour. He performed his task magnificently, and of course we are all extremely grateful to him, but you should be careful not to take it too personally.”

 

“Why don’t you just say what you want to say, Obi?” Tony challenges.

 

His God-father looks at him contemplatively, and then nods to himself. “I did not want to mention anything, but I have noticed that your regard for this man tends towards a, ah, _romantic_ nature. If you let him, he will take advantage of it.” He holds his palms out to pacify Tony’s indignant exclamation. “I do not mean to imply that he is in any way malicious. Only that you must consider just how advantageous marriage to you would be for someone in his position. It would be enough to tempt anyone. His apparent feelings for you may not be genuine.”

 

Tony almost wanted to laugh. Apparent feelings? Since opening up to him on that first evening, Rogers had seemed distressingly disinterested in Tony, except as a pleasant conversationalist. That was not the matter at hand, however. “I am not a child, Obi. You know I am well aware of the affect my money and power can have on people, and that I am not above using that for my own ends. My attraction to him does not change the fact that offering him a ride home with us is both the polite and right thing to do.”

 

That seems to convince Obi, who smirks a little and claps Tony on the shoulder. “As long as you are careful not to let him fool you. I am concerned only for your happiness, Tony.”

 

Tony smiles back, and they head back inside to join Rhodey and Mr Rogers in their packing.

 

 

On the first night aboard their air-ship, _The Maria_ , Tony wakes in a cold sweat, still tasting the water in his lungs. He puts his hand up to the device in his chest, feels each minute jolt as the mechanism ticks away, spring uncoiling in measured steps.

 

When he has regained some semblance of composure, Tony rises, knowing he will be unable to close his eyes for hours without seeing Yinsen’s face, and leaves his cabin. He pads noiselessly down the hall in his nightgown and slippers. He is heading for the library, but hears a continuous, soft noise from the sitting room, and goes to investigate, grateful for anything to keep his mind off his dreams.

 

Rogers is in his uniform, without the sash or the cap, his shield laid across his lap. He is carefully polishing the painted surface.

 

“Can’t sleep either?” Tony asks.

 

Rogers looks up, but his startled expression quickly fades away into recognition. “I have yet to try,” he says, gesturing at his clothes, which he was wearing earlier in the day (Rogers appears to only have two sets of clothes with him. While in Madripoor, Tony had considered hiring him a tailor, before deciding it would be both insulting to draw attention to Rogers’ lack of wardrobe, and paying for the other man’s attire might well be crossing a line.)

 

Tony takes a seat, not on the settee next to Rogers, but on the nearest chair, leaving a safe gap between them. It is the first time they have been alone together with little chance of interruption since the first night, and Tony doesn’t want to make Rogers uncomfortable. He is in his night-clothes again, but there is little he can do about that.

 

“May I have a look?” He asks, nodding at the shield, and Rogers hands it over.

 

“I painted it in the colours of the flag in the hopes it would convince you I was a friend, in case you were delirious when we found you.”

 

“I was very near delirious,” Tony says, running his hands over it, “And your plan worked. Good thinking, Captain.”

 

Rogers flushes, as he always does at the nickname Tony has coined for him. Tony suspects it is because he feels that he does not deserve the title, but cannot bring himself to stop using it, when it brings such an attractive shade of pink to Rogers’ cheeks. Tony still is, and probably always will be, a selfish man.

 

Tony turns the shield over, feeling the weight of it. There is something oddly familiar about it.

 

“I hope Mr Stark does not mind my modifications when I give it back to him.” Rogers says, “The paint should come off fairly easily.”

 

“My father gave you this?” He knocks on the surface, and there is a curious lack of vibration. That’s when he realises: “Is this _vibranium_?”

 

“Yes?” Rogers looks concerned at Tony’s gobsmacked expression. “Is that a problem?”

 

Tony stares from the shield to Rogers’ face. He remembers the plans for some new weapons he had designed a couple of months ago, each relying on a tiny bit of vibranium. He also remembers the roaring argument he had gotten into with Howard when his father revealed that he was using all their vibranium – the only known piece in the world – for something else, and refused to enlighten Tony any further.

 

Tony wonders if Howard had created the shield specifically for Mr Rogers, or whether he had just gifted him with it when he had sent him off to find Tony. Either way, Howard obviously trusted Rogers immensely.

 

“Not a – no, not a problem,” Tony says. He hands the shield back over, thinking of the unique way Rogers had used it in their fight against the rebels. “Anyone tell you you’re not supposed to throw your shield away? Pretty sure that’s in a dictionary somewhere: ‘Shield: Noun. Implement of protection; not a projectile.’”

 

“I was a bit nervous about getting too close to you, to be honest, with the way you were wielding that flame-throwing gauntlet. Thought it was better to watch your six from a distance, and it was the only projectile I had to hand.” Rogers is smiling softly.

 

“Ever hear of a gun?”

 

“I don’t like guns.”

 

“Of course you don’t. And you wanted to be a soldier?”

 

“I wanted to protect people. You don’t need a gun for that.”

 

Tony chuckles. “You certainly proved that.” He gets up to pour them both drinks, and when he comes back he sits on the settee beside Rogers. “So maybe you’re not cut out to be a soldier. Have you ever thought about being an adventurer?”

 

Rogers laughs. “Who hasn’t?”

 

That diverts them into a conversation about the exploits of various swashbucklers, from the Fantastical Foursome to the mysterious Man Without Fear to Miss Barbara Morse and back again. Tony revels in watching Mr Rogers come alive as he discussed their miraculous deeds, his eyes bright and hands in motion as he talks. The last of the coolness Rogers had been exhibiting towards Tony over the last couple of days dissolves, and their talk is as easy as that of life-long friends.

 

Of course, Tony has to go and ruin it. “You know, I could introduce you to Dr. Richards, if you liked?”

 

Rogers sits back in his seat and Tony suddenly realises how close they had moved to each other, how they had been leaning into each other as though drawn to each other by a magnetic force. “You know Dr Richards?”

 

“Of course; we went to university together.”

 

“Of course.” Rogers says.

 

“Mrs Richards hosts a bi-annual dinner party for –“ Tony falters and stops as Rogers fold his hands carefully into his lap. “I take it you’re not too thrilled by the idea?” He feels distinctly wrong-footed.

 

“You are very generous in your offer, Mr Stark, but I must decline.”

 

Tony frowns, and considers the last few minutes of their exchange. “You realise there’s no shame in being socially mobile, right?”

 

“There is in using your gratitude to do it,” Rogers says. “I have more pride than that.”

 

“Too much pride, one could argue.”

 

“Good night, Mr Stark.”

 

Rogers’ tone is perfectly measured and polite. It reminds Tony of how he speaks to Obadiah, and Tony panics, grabbing for Rogers’ wrist before he can do any more than stand up.

 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I did not mean to offend you. I have enjoyed talking to you this evening – would you care to do it again sometime? I shall refrain from inviting you to any more dinner-parties, I promise.”

 

Rogers hesitates, and then smiles. “I’ll settle for nothing less than an invitation to a ball, next time. Tomorrow evening?”

 

“Tomorrow evening,” Tony agrees, and smiles as he watches Rogers walk away.

 

 

 

They meet nearly every evening after that. Rhodey’s concerned frowns resolve into small smiles after the first week or so, whilst Obadiah’s little smirks are replaced by genuine worry.

 

Much as he loves them, Tony couldn’t care less about what they think. He makes the most of every moment spent with Rogers – Steve – and tries to ignore the pain in his chest every time he thinks about how little time they have left, how soon he will be back in his workshop and Rogers will be closeted away in a lab elsewhere in the city, being pricked by needles for a living. Tony is scared that Steve will refuse to associate with him when they return to New York, that he will insist that they belong in separate social circles and must never see each other again. They haven’t talked about the future.

 

On their last evening out from New York, stood out on the deck with the night wind in their hair, Tony tries to bring it up, but he finds it difficult to breathe and sticks to safer subjects. He watches Steve walk away that night with a fierce pain in his chest.

 

Steve turns back at the door, silhouetted against the glow from within, and Tony struggles to draw breath.

 

“Mr Stark? Tony!” Steve is suddenly back at his side, on his knees. “What’s happening?”

 

Tony has slid down the railing to the deck. This definitely isn’t normal. His fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Nothing to worry about, my friend, but I may be going into cardiac arrest…“

 

Steve tears Tony’s shirt open without a thought, ripping the fabric. The clockwork device sits silently in Tony’s chest.

 

“I need –“ Tony manages, and Steve lifts him into his arms.

 

“Bedroom?” He asks, and Tony nods.

 

Luxurious as _The Maria_ is, the living quarters are necessarily limited in space, and the corridors aren’t really wide enough for someone to be carried through them, so Rogers makes his way down them as quickly as possible sideways, turning into corners carefully so as to avoid knocking Tony’s feet or head against the wall. Of course, they had been on the opposite side of the ship to Tony’s bedroom when this started.

 

Steve tries to lay Tony on his bed as gently as possible, but Tony is already trying to sit up.

 

“The drawer?” Steve asks, looking where Tony’s hand is reaching towards the desk. He tries the top drawer, but it is locked. Before Tony can even reach into his overcoat pocket for his keys, Steve has yanked the drawer free, spilling its contents all over the floor. His eyes settle on the clockwork key almost immediately, and he’s by Tony’s side a second later, batting his shaky hands away. He inserts the key into the device and gives it two sharp turns.

 

Tony’s heart starts beating again. He lays back against the pillow, closing his eyes and just breathing, feeling his heart beating in his chest. The room is silent except for the beautiful sound of ticking.

 

“You idiot,” Steve says when Tony opens his eyes again. “You forgot to wind up the mechanism that is _powering your heart_?” He sounds frustrated, but so relieved, a beatific smile on his face.

 

“It’s never wound down before,” Tony replies, “It was meant to last another month or so by our original calculations, but that was before I used it to power the Iron Man.”

 

“Well, remember to factor the armour in, next time. And it might help to carry this with you,” Steve says, tapping the key that is still sticking out of his chest.

 

“Next time?” Tony asks.

 

Steve laughs and nods at the Iron Man plans scattered all over from where they had spilled out of the drawer. “You don’t fool me, Mr Stark.”

 

Tony grins.

 

“Ready to be wound up, clockwork man?” Ask Steve.

 

Tony reaches up to the key, but Steve pushes his hands away again. “Let me.”

 

He gives it a few turns at a time, then lets Tony’s heart tick for a bit so he can recover, before winding it a little more. Eventually, the spring is as tightly coiled as it will go, and Steve pulls the key out and watches Tony catch his breath for the last time. He touches the hair at Tony’s forehead lightly. “Alright?”

 

Tony leans into the touch a little. “Yeah,” he says, then reaches forward to close Steve’s hand tightly around the key. “Maybe you should keep that.”

 

Steve stands abruptly. He sounds angry, “You shouldn’t even joke about that. You should keep this on you at all times.” He picks up a loop of string from the desk and begins to tie the key onto it securely. He says nothing else.

 

“Did you miss the part where I offered you the key to my heart?”

 

Steve doesn’t look up from his work. “No, I heard it,” he says quietly.

 

Tony’s silence is like a thrown gauntlet, a challenge.

 

“At first I thought it was just this body you were interested in,” Steve says, eventually, “And your gratitude. I thought you’d realise I wasn’t the kind of person you want, and you’d either forget about me, or just seduce me as Mr Stane so obviously expected… But time passed, and – you really care for me, don’t you?”

 

“I do. I love you.”

 

A smile blooms on Steve’s face, and Tony feels a stab of hope.

 

But Steve keeps his face down and begins shaking his head. “We can’t be together, Tony.”

 

“Do you love me as well?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then why can’t we marry?”

 

“Because we belong in two different worlds.”

 

“I don’t care about _class_ , Steve.”

 

“The Newspapers will care. Mr Stane will care. What about your father? Mr Stark likes me well enough, but he has been more than generous to me already. He is not going to let me marry his only son.”

 

Tony feelings like bringing up the shield; if Howard trusts Steve with priceless vibranium, he would trust him with _Tony._ But he knows it’s not that simple. Tony is his heir and bargaining chip. He won’t let go of that easily.

 

 “Then we’ll leave,” Tony says. “We can run away together as soon as we touch down in America tomorrow. Go wherever you want, start a new life together. I can invent some things, sell some patents. We might even have a good bit of cash to start off with if you’ll let me sell the shield.”

 

Steve’s serious face tells him that he isn’t convinced by the plan, but that’s fine because Tony is a fantastic orator and is confident he can persuade Steve, and they can be happy together.

 

“Quite apart from the fact that I would never ask you to leave your family, Anthony, what about this?” He picks up a sheath of paper from the floor and hands it to Tony.

 

It’s his design of the new Iron Man helmet.

 

“How quickly do you think you can sell those patents?” Steve asks, not unkindly. “I know you feel like you need redemption, Tony. I know you want to avenge Yinsen, and those poor soldiers. I know you want to help people. But you’re going to need a suit of armour made of more than a box of scraps this time.”

 

Tony stares down at the paper until he feels a hand on the back of his neck. Steve is bending close to look him in the eye.

 

“I’m sorry, Tony, but you need this more than you need me right now.”

 

He presses a kiss to Tony’s lips that Tony has no doubt is meant to be chaste, but he pushes up into it, hands grasping Steve’s collar to pull him further in. He feels Steve hesitate, and then allow it to happen, opening his lips to Tony’s. His knee comes up onto the bed to steady himself as his other hand rises to cup Tony’s jaw, thumb stroking along his beard and up to caress along his cheekbone and brush the fluttering eyelashes. Tony tangles his fingers through Steve’s hair as he slips a tongue into his mouth.

 

When they eventually pull apart, they are both short of breath, and Steve has to lever himself up from where his body has fallen into Tony’s.

 

“Thank you, Anthony,” he says, fingers drifting over his over-sensitive lips. His eyes look deep and sad. “I should go.”

 

“You could stay?” He wouldn’t normally ask, but Tony will take whatever he can of Steve right now. If it is to be their last and only chance together.

 

“I should go,” Steve repeats, and moves to the door. “Sleep well; I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Tony lies there for what feels like hours, hand inside his open shirt, pressed against his clockwork heart, hearing the ticking echoing through the room, and aching, and aching, and aching.

 

 

Steve doesn’t come in for breakfast the next morning, the servants reporting that he is busy packing. Rhodey throws a concerned glance Tony’s way that Tony ignores.

 

He pokes his head through the door at about eleven o’clock. “We’re coming in to land,” he tells them, and they all make their way out onto the deck. Steve gives Tony a small, sad smile as they stand side-by-side at the rail, brushing their fingers together. Tony returns the smile as best he can, and turns his attention rather forcibly to the view as they fly over Manhattan.

 

Tony is surprised to see his father’s grey head at the airfield, beside Mr Hogan’s bulk and Mrs Hogan’s bright hair.

 

Back on solid ground, Tony lets his father walk up to him and put his hands on his shoulders. “I’m glad to have you back, son. We’ll need to have a talk later about what I’ve found out about your kidnapping, but that can wait. Your friends are eager to speak to you.” He gives Tony a firm pat on the shoulder and sends him on his way towards Happy and a teary Pepper.

 

As he gets in the automobile with Obi to be driven away, he sees Howard talking to Rhodey and Steve. Steve raises a hand in farewell, but Happy closes the door before Tony can do the same. Through the one-way glass, Tony sees Steve slowly lower his hand and turn back towards the conversation.

 

Obi touches his back comfortingly. “You’ll forget about him eventually,” he says in that soft, gruff voice of his, “It’ll be hard, but you’ll come out of it stronger.”

 

Tony tries hard to believe him.

 

 

 

“A visitor to see you, Master Stark,” Jarvis says, and Tony mumbles something to let him know he’s heard and carries on with his work. He’s just moving things around at this point, getting things ready for the most important project of his life, making an inventory of things he will need bringing over to the mansion from his workshop at _Stark and Son_. He hears the door click to as Jarvis leaves, and it’s a few seconds after that that he realises no-one has spoken. His father or Pepper would have launched straight into whatever they had come to talk about, always eager to get to the point, whilst Rhodey would have made some sort of comment on whatever Tony was working on. Obi would probably have walked over to lean on the desk beside Tony and watch him in that concerned, fatherly look he gets.

 

Whoever Jarvis has shown in hasn’t spoken or moved, hanging around by the door, so Tony stops sorting through his tools and turns around.

 

Steve has obviously been home, as he is wearing a different low-quality suit than the one he had in Madripoor and on board the airship. Tony again has a desire to take Steve to his tailor, get him something that complements his figure, possibly something with tails. But that isn’t his place, or his privilege.

 

“This is amazing,” Steve says. He’s not looking at Tony, but instead is gazing all around the workshop with awe written all over his features.

 

“I thought you were used to labs?” Asks Tony cautiously. He’s not sure where they stand at the moment, what Steve is doing here or how to talk to him.

 

“Those are very different kinds of labs,” Steve says, “All bubbling chemicals and rats in cages… This is magnificent.” He’s gazing up at the swinging pendulum and whirring cogs of one of Tony’s older machine, stood by the door.

 

Tony can’t help but smile. “You haven’t got a clue what any of this apparatus does, have you?”

 

“Not even slightly,” Steve says, turning the full force of his smile on Tony. “But it’s all very impressive.”

 

They smile at each other for a few long moments, and Tony doesn’t want to ever stop. He thought he would never get to Steve again. But his curiosity gets the better of him. “Mr Rogers, what are you doing here?”

 

Steve glances down at his hands, which are clutching the shield. “I’ve been talking to your father.” He hefts the shield a little, “He’s letting me keep this.”

 

“That’s good,” Tony says, pleased. He feels that his own planned contraptions using the vibranium aren’t half as important as that symbol in Steve’s hands, though he has a horrible feeling that if someone asked him to rationalise that belief, he couldn’t

 

“He’s also offered me a job.”

 

“A job? What kind of job?” Apprehension creeps over Tony, “He doesn’t want you to bodyguard me, does he?” He can’t stand the idea, and not only because he hates the thought of being mollycoddled by anyone. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to get by, day to day, having Steve so close by, but so out of reach. He’s chosen his path to redemption,  has resolved to do his best to make up for the sins of his past, but it’s not going to be easy, and Steve, good as he is, would just be a temptation and a distraction from that –

 

“No, though I think he’s definitely considering getting you one. You might want to head him off at the pass, if you’re planning on keeping this whole Iron Man scheme a secret.”

 

“Right,” Tony says, feeling an irrational swoop of disappointment in his stomach. He can’t stand to have Steve close, but nor does he want to be apart from him.

 

“No, the job – it’s – he wants me to be his own personal adventurer.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’d have a costume, keep the shield for its symbolism and handiness. Maybe have an adventurer’s name or something, I don’t know. Anyway, the idea is that I’d go out on missions as your father and I see fit. Search and rescue, helping out in natural disasters, that kind of thing. And –” he hesitates, “And hunting down _Stark_ weapons that have fallen into the wrong hands. Taking out the traitor if I need to.”

 

He’s looking at Tony. He’s nervous.

 

All Tony can think to say is, “Oh.”

 

 “And I thought… I know that’s your goal. That you want to make up for things. I don’t want to step on your toes. But I was wondering if you’d allow me to join you?”

 

“Join me?”

 

“I thought we could be crime-fighting partners. Like Miss Marvellous and the Wonderous Man. We could be the Iron Man and –” he flounders.

 

“The Shield-Wielder? Mr Hates-Guns?” A smile is beginning to spread across Tony’s face unchecked. “I-just-want-to-protect-people?”

 

Steve’s eyes are sparkling, and he looks almost as relieved as he did last night, when Tony’s heart started beating again. “We’ll work on it.”

 

“So you’ll accept my father’s proposition?”

 

“Yes; if you agree to work with me.”

 

“It would be a pleasure, Mr Rogers,” Tony says, and sticks out his hand cockily for Steve to shake, which he does, grinning.

 

“I look forward to a profitable partnership, Mr Stark.”

 

Tony tugs on Steve’s hand, and Steve steps closer, their clasped fingers falling in between their bodies. “I’m glad not to lose you,” Tony says.

 

“Me too,” Steve replies, turning his hand to hold Tony’s properly, thumb smoothing over his knuckles.

 

Tony runs the fingers of his other hand along Steve’s jaw.

 

“We shouldn’t.” Steve says. He resists as Tony tries to angle his jaw towards his. “I’m already breaking your father’s trust in me by getting you involved in this.”

 

“Who do you like better, my father or me?” Tony teases, leaning up towards Steve’s mouth.

 

Steve smiles. “Looks like villains aren’t the only things I’ll have to defend myself against,” he says. He lets go of Tony’s hand and brings the shield up in front of his chest, body going into a comically exaggerated defensive stance. Tony can’t help but laugh.

 

“Well, good luck with that.”

 

Steve drags his hand down Tony’s arm. “I’ll be in touch soon,” he says. “About our first mission.”

 

“I look forward to it.”

 

He watches Steve leave, with a smile on his face. He can do this, Tony thinks triumphantly. With Steve by his side, tracking down all his old weapons doesn’t seem like such an impossible task. The thought of working with Steve like that, as partners, makes his pace speed up. And maybe, just maybe, it will convince Steve that they really are equals. After the last weapon is destroyed, the money will no longer matter, and then he and Steve –

 

He grins.

 

Steve will take a lot of convincing, stubborn and honourable as he is. But that’s alright; Tony will just have to persuade him. In fact, he’s looking forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> RE WARNINGS: VIOLENCE AND MEDICINE: Apart from the fact that Tony's heart runs on clockwork rather Arc Reactor power, This fic is based for the most part on the first Iron Man film. If you made it through the fight sequences and Tony's 'cardiac arrest' in the film, you should be alright here. Tony is also shown neglecting his health, as he neglected to charge his chest plate in the early comics.
> 
> This is my first fic in a long long time, and one of about four stories I have actually finished in my life. I am therefore very open to constructive criticism, please go ahead. :)
> 
> Oh man, I hope I caught all those desserts from the first draft...


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